Also irritated by the feeling that she had forgotten something, Christine had decided to keep herself as busy as possible,a nd thus keep her mind off it. Well, more specifically, keep it from wondering why her hands kept curling as if holding a child's hand. Knowing what had happened on the ship before, Christine wondered if she really wanted to remember.
Her latest errand was getting food for herself and Erol from the buffet, and she was almost back. Even as she opened the door and set the tray down on the table, Christine was already wondering what she could do next, and so she didn't notice what Erol was holding as she glimpsed him on her way past. When she turned, however, to tell him that yes, he did need to eat if he was to recover properly...
Well, her face was the very picture of panic. To her credit, at least she tried to salvage the situation.
Her panic sealed things. Now the only question was how she would dig her own grave.
"I believe you know exactly what this is," he stated. Instead of heated with anger, his voice was low and soft. Calm.
Erol had never been more dangerous than he was when he used that tone. She wasn't Christine anymore, she wasn't the girl he strived not to hurt despite his own sadism, whose looks of trust and absolute adoration he savored, whose death was followed by his own as he took revenge upon the creatures that dared touch what was his. She was now an interrogation subject, someone who'd slipped a drug into his drink, and he was going to exact payment from her in full.
Instictively, Christine wracked her brain for a lie, any lie, anything at all that would explain the presence of the potion amongst her things. After all, perhaps not all was lost. Knowing Erol, he was probably simply wary that she might try to use it on him - or, worse, someone else.
As a matter of fact, Christine had never had any intention of using the second potion, and still wasn't quite sure why she'd bought it. She supposed it was something of a keepsake, a reminder of what had happened, even if it had been false. Maybe it was somehow also a preventative in and of itself. So long as she had the potion, she could be tempted to use it and resist by telling herself she'd be good today, and maybe use it tomorrow. And so on.
Had it been anyone else questioning her, Christine just might have pieced together a plausible explanation, but Erol? No, she could never manage to lie convincingly to him.
"Yes." Eyes fixed on the floor, she clasped her hands helplessly and silently hoped that everything would be all right.
It takes quite a lot of self-control not to snap and hit her right then, but he manages. At least she isn't giving him any lip. If she did that he would just snap her fragile little neck right here -
"And who have you used it on?"
Loaded question. Not Did you use it, but Who did you use it on.
It's a knee-jerk reaction, an instinct to answer in the negative when accused of something, and Christine knew she said it far too quickly for it to sound like what it was - the truth.
Well, nothing to do now but work with it. She fixed Erol with her very best pleading look - believe me, please believe me, why don't you believe me - and ploughs on. Maybe, just maybe, the fact that she is technically telling the truth will balance out her tendancy to confess all to Erol.
Erol wasn't about to be put off by technicalities. He KNEW something had happened at Emeraudes, and she was going to admit it if he had to beat it out of her.
"DON'T," he snapped, "treat me like an idiot. You took it from Emeraudes. Why did you TAKE it if you weren't going to USE it."
If she hadn't used it yet? He would still have to teach her a lesson for even thinking of it. But liklihood of her getting off that easy was slim to nonexistant. The knowledge that he'd likely been drugged - and that it was only coming out NOW, because he had nosed around in her belongings - made his fist tighten dangerously around the bottle.
Erol might have been an addict, but his highs were very specific, and mostly internaly-generated; he didn't even take painkillers if he could help it. Adrenaline, caffiene, alcohol; occasional nicotine. Nothing else, and Precursors help the person who slipped him something without his consent.
"I not, Erol, I swear I not. I not know why I take it... it... it just to remember, I think. I not use that one, never. Please believe me." By the end, her voice has bypassed pleading completely and has moved on to desperate. Perhaps her desperation to make things right and to avoid punishment for her sins was why she missed her mistake. Not that it mattered either way.
Because she missed it, and because she was that one look that always seemed to work so well, Christine allowed herself to hope that maybe she could talk her way out of this mess. Or beg on bended knees. Whatever worked.
And there we have it. Push hard enough, generate enough fear, and they would slip up. Never failed.
"I see, to remember... remember 'the other one,' is that right?" He turned the bottle skillfully over his fingers, seeming calm and rational... while in reality his anger was merely stalking the appropriate moment.
"So you had another one, and THAT one you used, yes? On whom." His voice was firm - Erol WOULD get an answer.
Ironically, he wouldn't have cared half so much if she'd used it on someone else. Erol was possessive, yes, but he would tolerate her running around so long as it didn't affect how she treated him. Slipping a drug into his food was a far greater offense than making doe-eyes at someone else behind his back.
Bewilderment engulfed the brunette as she tries to work out how Erol knew that. Then she went over what she'd just said in her head, and silently cursed herself. How could she have been to stupid as to think she was doing well? Now it would all come out, and Erol would abandon her and despise her, just as he should.
But maybe... maybe if she didn't say anything else to incriminate herself - not that Erol needed anything more, if he was smart enough to put all the pieces together - then perhaps she would get off with a lighter punishment.
So she remains silent, trying to look like the meek, mild, obedient woman she always should be, praying for mercy.
Oh, Christine. Wrong thing to say - or rather, not to say. Her silence was complicity, yet she lacked the honesty to say it out loud.
"You used it on me DIDN'T YOU!!!" Erol snarled, his fist lashing out to smash against the dresser. Something broke; items tumbled and scattered on the floor.
"You. DRUGGED me." His voice was heavy with the accusation, breaking the frightened silence with every inch of sheer anger he felt at having had his personality changed and manipulated against his will. Everything that had scared him about Batou - and Christine, this GIRL, the only one he could be said to really trust because he'd thought her incapable of betraying him - she'd gone and done it with a potion.
Christine stumbled backwards a few steps, completely terrified. This was it, she had been found out, and now she would be punished. Why oh why had she been so deceitful--
Damn you, you little lying Delilah!
--so wicked, and so selfish? She was a wretched person, always grasping for more than she deserved, and never, ever happy with what she had.
"I sorry, Erol, so, so sorry. I not mean any harm, I swear." Slowly, carefully, she takes a few steps backwards. If she could reach the door... Oh, she was such a coward, but she couldn't help it. She just wasn't made to be strong and accept punishment. "You know I not ever mean you harm."
He had to believe that, if nothing else, didn't he? After all, she had always been there to tend to his wounds, to soothe his anger, to try and make things better. Christine couldn't even begin to entertain the thought of anything that might cause Erol harm.
Whatever mercy Christine's words might have bought her were completely nullified by her backing away. She knew - or thought she knew - what was coming, and was afraid. As well she might be, but Erol didn't like the idea that she would try to get away, try to escape his anger.
"Oh, you didn't mean any HARM." Erol's voice was harsh with sarcasm, a tone he'd never used on her before. "WELL then. That's different, if you meant no harm. You just wanted to manipulate me, that's all, isn't that RIGHT?!?!"
The last word slid into an animalistic snarl of rage as he dove for her, fingers raking the air to catch his prey.
Any attempt a subtlety was completely and utterly abaondoned as Christine rushed towards the door and fought to open it. As the very oldest kind of panic and fear - that of helpless prey that has suddenly found itself in the lion's den - mixed and multiplied, rendering her hands fumbling and useless.
Then she felt hands grasp her, fingers digging in, and wondered if it was all over or only just beginning.
Erol caught her, pulled her away from the door and pinned her against the wall. He was so infuriated he could barely think, but that didn't stop him from backhanding her.
Most men, if they were low enough to hit a woman, would at least hold back a little, not use the same strength they would when fighting another man. Erol had no such sense, and he was out to do some damage.
"I'll teach you to drug me behind my back," he snarled, low and vengeful.
The blow brought forth a sharp cry of pain, all the more wretched because it was Erol dealing it. For every wave of pain from her face, a hundred more came from Christine's heart. This was wrong, she had never meant to hurt him, or anger him. He wasn't even supposed to find out. What harm had there been in her living her fantasy for just one afternoon? Was it wrong
( ... )
The gesture might have pleased Erol, but he was too far gone to care. His anger was in full swing now, and this beast wouldn't be quelled until it ran itself to exhaustion. All the pain and humiliation of getting 'demoted,' frustration at Torn's imposed limitations, the constant nagging need for things he couldn't have and anger at losing Haven had built up, and learning that he'd been drugged to satisfy a little girl's fantasy was the straw that broke the yakkow's back. Even if he could have reined it in, the ambient Dark Eco in his bloodstream took the building landslide and turned it into a colossal avalanche
( ... )
Her latest errand was getting food for herself and Erol from the buffet, and she was almost back. Even as she opened the door and set the tray down on the table, Christine was already wondering what she could do next, and so she didn't notice what Erol was holding as she glimpsed him on her way past. When she turned, however, to tell him that yes, he did need to eat if he was to recover properly...
Well, her face was the very picture of panic. To her credit, at least she tried to salvage the situation.
"E-Erol... w-what that?"
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"I believe you know exactly what this is," he stated. Instead of heated with anger, his voice was low and soft. Calm.
Erol had never been more dangerous than he was when he used that tone. She wasn't Christine anymore, she wasn't the girl he strived not to hurt despite his own sadism, whose looks of trust and absolute adoration he savored, whose death was followed by his own as he took revenge upon the creatures that dared touch what was his. She was now an interrogation subject, someone who'd slipped a drug into his drink, and he was going to exact payment from her in full.
"Where did you get it? Emeraudes?"
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As a matter of fact, Christine had never had any intention of using the second potion, and still wasn't quite sure why she'd bought it. She supposed it was something of a keepsake, a reminder of what had happened, even if it had been false. Maybe it was somehow also a preventative in and of itself. So long as she had the potion, she could be tempted to use it and resist by telling herself she'd be good today, and maybe use it tomorrow. And so on.
Had it been anyone else questioning her, Christine just might have pieced together a plausible explanation, but Erol? No, she could never manage to lie convincingly to him.
"Yes." Eyes fixed on the floor, she clasped her hands helplessly and silently hoped that everything would be all right.
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"And who have you used it on?"
Loaded question. Not Did you use it, but Who did you use it on.
He wanted her to hang herself.
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It's a knee-jerk reaction, an instinct to answer in the negative when accused of something, and Christine knew she said it far too quickly for it to sound like what it was - the truth.
Well, nothing to do now but work with it. She fixed Erol with her very best pleading look - believe me, please believe me, why don't you believe me - and ploughs on. Maybe, just maybe, the fact that she is technically telling the truth will balance out her tendancy to confess all to Erol.
"I swear. You know I not do a thing like that."
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"DON'T," he snapped, "treat me like an idiot. You took it from Emeraudes. Why did you TAKE it if you weren't going to USE it."
If she hadn't used it yet? He would still have to teach her a lesson for even thinking of it. But liklihood of her getting off that easy was slim to nonexistant. The knowledge that he'd likely been drugged - and that it was only coming out NOW, because he had nosed around in her belongings - made his fist tighten dangerously around the bottle.
Erol might have been an addict, but his highs were very specific, and mostly internaly-generated; he didn't even take painkillers if he could help it. Adrenaline, caffiene, alcohol; occasional nicotine. Nothing else, and Precursors help the person who slipped him something without his consent.
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Because she missed it, and because she was that one look that always seemed to work so well, Christine allowed herself to hope that maybe she could talk her way out of this mess. Or beg on bended knees. Whatever worked.
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"I see, to remember... remember 'the other one,' is that right?" He turned the bottle skillfully over his fingers, seeming calm and rational... while in reality his anger was merely stalking the appropriate moment.
"So you had another one, and THAT one you used, yes? On whom." His voice was firm - Erol WOULD get an answer.
Ironically, he wouldn't have cared half so much if she'd used it on someone else. Erol was possessive, yes, but he would tolerate her running around so long as it didn't affect how she treated him. Slipping a drug into his food was a far greater offense than making doe-eyes at someone else behind his back.
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But maybe... maybe if she didn't say anything else to incriminate herself - not that Erol needed anything more, if he was smart enough to put all the pieces together - then perhaps she would get off with a lighter punishment.
So she remains silent, trying to look like the meek, mild, obedient woman she always should be, praying for mercy.
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"You used it on me DIDN'T YOU!!!" Erol snarled, his fist lashing out to smash against the dresser. Something broke; items tumbled and scattered on the floor.
"You. DRUGGED me." His voice was heavy with the accusation, breaking the frightened silence with every inch of sheer anger he felt at having had his personality changed and manipulated against his will. Everything that had scared him about Batou - and Christine, this GIRL, the only one he could be said to really trust because he'd thought her incapable of betraying him - she'd gone and done it with a potion.
Anger spied it's prey, tensed to strike.
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Damn you, you little lying Delilah!
--so wicked, and so selfish? She was a wretched person, always grasping for more than she deserved, and never, ever happy with what she had.
"I sorry, Erol, so, so sorry. I not mean any harm, I swear." Slowly, carefully, she takes a few steps backwards. If she could reach the door... Oh, she was such a coward, but she couldn't help it. She just wasn't made to be strong and accept punishment. "You know I not ever mean you harm."
He had to believe that, if nothing else, didn't he? After all, she had always been there to tend to his wounds, to soothe his anger, to try and make things better. Christine couldn't even begin to entertain the thought of anything that might cause Erol harm.
Except, obviously, this.
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"Oh, you didn't mean any HARM." Erol's voice was harsh with sarcasm, a tone he'd never used on her before. "WELL then. That's different, if you meant no harm. You just wanted to manipulate me, that's all, isn't that RIGHT?!?!"
The last word slid into an animalistic snarl of rage as he dove for her, fingers raking the air to catch his prey.
Reply
Any attempt a subtlety was completely and utterly abaondoned as Christine rushed towards the door and fought to open it. As the very oldest kind of panic and fear - that of helpless prey that has suddenly found itself in the lion's den - mixed and multiplied, rendering her hands fumbling and useless.
Then she felt hands grasp her, fingers digging in, and wondered if it was all over or only just beginning.
Reply
Most men, if they were low enough to hit a woman, would at least hold back a little, not use the same strength they would when fighting another man. Erol had no such sense, and he was out to do some damage.
"I'll teach you to drug me behind my back," he snarled, low and vengeful.
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